I look back. I was a child, that child seems a long way from me now. Now I sit in the evenings imbibing rather too much red wine.

My life has been a tapestry, born of young parents who had no desire for a child and were excessively annoyed that I was not a boy, at least that would have been some recompense.

My childhood was uncomfortable but was saved by the kindness of Malaysian servants who took on the duty of parenting and gave me the love that I lacked. They were Chinese, Indian and Malay. This experience gave me a warmth to all those people who are just accepted by society, yet not highly regarded. In the end, it is small kindnesses that makes the world go around.

I escaped from my uncomfortable childhood on my 18^th birthday because my parents could get a free flight   for me to return to the UK before I was 18. My father was a colonel in the army and my mother was a socialite.

I returned to the UK with no idea how to behave. I had spent two years in a Malaysian school in which I was the only European child. I had been imbued in other cultures.

I arrived in Worthing. My grandparents, a Victorian house, with a flint walled garden full of Spring flowers. The only other person apart from the servants that had given me love was my grandmother.

I was too young to start my nursing training and ended up in a convalescent home in Clacton on sea, where I learnt how to make beds and do up corsets for the infirm and elderly. This was good training as servants had just looked after me and I had no idea how to boil an egg.

It was at a young conservative dance that I met a young man who found me somewhat exotic because I was weird. He became my husband for 58 years.